


i think i saw the world turn in your eyes

by jesseabrams



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, SO, and im excited to give it to u guys, and jakes headspace is my favorite space to be in, as far as dialogue is concerned, but !!!, but it follows canon near to entirely, here we are!, here we go lads, i am very obsessed, minor canon divergenies, narrative stuff is my favorite to write, of course, so like, this is going to be a work in progro for sure, with this concept!, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 04:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19738009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesseabrams/pseuds/jesseabrams
Summary: Jake stole Amy’s favorite blue pen out of her utensils cup for the third-- he was counting-- time that week. She scowled at him, but the corners of her lips twitched out for a moment like she wanted to smile and she wouldn’t let herself. He’d only return it to her after she balled up a scrap paper and thrown it at him, and if he sat down quick enough, he could catch her smile at her lap, the same smile she’d been hiding from him.Shit.or:how jake fell in love with amy, from season 1 to season 6.* title fromturnby the wombats





	1. you & i

**Author's Note:**

> HIIIII ALL  
> basically this is just the evolution of jake's feelings for amy, one chapter for each season. i might do season 7 when we get there???? but idk. probably tho. all we have is 1-6 rn so expect this to be about 6 (solidly) chapters long!! ill try to update frequently but heres season one for now <3 enjoy loves  
> also all of the chapters are named after a song!! this one is after you and i by ingrid michaelson :)

He’d call them frenemies.

Amy Santiago shared his desk corner, was _super_ smart, surpassed him in organization in every way imaginable, and most importantly, got on his _nerves_. To be fair, he got on hers, too-- it was sort of a personal goal. If he could irritate her and close at _least_ one case every shift he worked (that she also worked), he’d call it a day gone successful.

They pushed, jabbed, bended, and broke each other in every way possible, but they worked together better than anyone in the squad could’ve ever guessed, based on their first time meeting. Jake was amicable and polite, Amy nervous and, for lack of better wording, awkward-- Charles was positive they’d be married in eleven years, tops. 

Jake tried hard to forget about that. He was worried it would become some sort of weird, Charles-brought-on self-fulfilling prophecy.

For the most part, feelings were entirely lost on him. Jake was never the type to get hung up on a girl; he’d hit it and quit it (after calling back, taking them out to breakfast, and mutually agreeing to part ways-- it only ever got serious _one time_ , when he was twenty three), and call it done. It was lost on him, the way his eyes would linger just a little too long on Amy when she would adjust her shirt or flip her hair over to the other shoulder on the days she wore it down. It didn’t dawn on him at all that he’d started to push her buttons only to hear her laugh-- he could cite where her blush would start. He’d say or do something stupid, she’d dip her chin, and the tips of her ears would turn red before her cheeks did.

They carried on that way. Peralta and Santiago, a perfect testament to the phrase ‘opposites attract’-- they were phenomenal colleagues and partners, even better friends. Jake decided to privately drop the juvenile ‘enemies’ he’d tack on to how he’d describe their relationship after he saw the way she’d light up when closing a big, tough to bust case. He enjoyed helping her-- he liked to watch her win. 

Only after he won their year long bet, however-- it felt good to beat her, but it felt better to watch her struggle (only sometimes succeeding) to drop nuts into her mouth while the moon cast a soft white shadow over her features and her eyes sparkled like little glasses of dark amber champagne. 

Jake’s garden of feelings for Amy started with seedlings that he kept covered with a tarp. He only lifted said tarp when he was alone in his apartment; he couldn’t bare to share with the squad, for fear they’d see the quiet, tiny, blooming flowers and pick them, only to give them to Amy before he was ready. 

He didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t need to. Drugged up Charles was onto something, but sober Charles wasn’t ballsy enough to lay it on him without thorough inebriation, and that was something he was thankful for. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep himself up ruminating, though-- “you know why little boys pull little girls’ pigtails on the playground? Because they like them.”

_Jake stole Amy’s favorite blue pen out of her utensils cup for the third-- he was counting-- time that week. She scowled at him, but the corners of her lips twitched out for a moment like she wanted to smile and she wouldn’t let herself. He’d only return it to her after she balled up a scrap paper and thrown it at him, and if he sat down quick enough, he could catch her smile at her lap, the same smile she’d been hiding from him._

Shit.

* * *

He didn’t realize how many things he’d regret if he… y’know, _died_. There was a lot he needed to say and a lot of people he needed to say things to. Jake didn’t like to think about his own mortality until he absolutely _had_ to-- going undercover with the mafia? Probably a great time to think a little bit.

Everything was happening so quick. One minute he was yelling in a court room, the next he was yelling at his squad and his uniform-blues tie was god knows where, and the next his desk was packed up and it was dark, wouldn’t be light again until morning; the first morning of an indefinite undercover operation, where he wouldn’t be allowed to contact anyone from the nine-nine, barring captain Holt for certain things and his marshall. 

He had a lot of shit to say, and he had to say it quickly. He’d racked his entire brain all day for ways to tell Amy he liked her, but nothing quite fit into his schedule. He came close one time-- he told her her dress made her look like a mermaid, and it did. He noted then how nice iridescent blues and greens looked on her, and then again when he taught her to dance properly, so she wouldn’t murder his feet.

It was dark. The lights overhead were orange because the plastic on the outside of the bulbs needed either changing or a clean. He could see his breath because it was cold, and his jacket wasn’t enough, even with his hoodie on underneath. Jake knew he was jeopardizing his own safety with this conversation, but it needed to be had. He wouldn’t sleep right if he didn’t at least say it.

He wouldn’t sleep right anyway-- he was going undercover with the _mafia_. He was basically living every single dream he had when he was seven.

“If something bad goes down, I think I’d be pissed at myself if I didn’t say this,” it was cold and his words felt hotter than the cast iron he accidentally burnt his fingertip on when he was seven, and his breath was like steam instead of cold smoke, “I kinda wish something could happen… between us. _Romantic stylez_.”

He didn’t take his pause to watch her growing confusion; it would probably make this worse if he did, so he watched the pavement instead of her face. “And I know it can’t, because you’re with Teddy, and I’m going undercover, and that’s just… how it is. But anyway, we’re not supposed to have any contact, so I should go. America needs me. Bye.”

As quickly as he showed his heart to her, he hid it again, under his farce of light jokes and innocuous wording. He didn’t need to make this harder for her or for himself, so he left. He didn’t want to know what she had to say as a response, but all the same, it would kill him knowing she left words unsaid, too.

Jake uncovered his little seedlings. They were full-blown daisies at this point. He cut them from their soil, made sure the stems were even, tied them up, and offered them to Amy. All he could do now was hope she watered them if she chose to take them home.


	2. fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, he might’ve made a mistake.
> 
> Jake’s made a _lot_ of mistakes in his life. He was no stranger to having to try again; he was practically at the friends-with-benefits stage with having to take a few steps back to reassess and try something else, if he was able. That said, he was used to making bad decisions as well-- he just couldn’t get over this one in particular.
> 
> He told Amy he liked her, and then he disappeared for six months.
> 
> Jake _definitely_ might’ve made a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to this monster of an update LMFAOOOO....... i don't know what to say for myself. the last time i published this was in july. um we...:) LMAO anyway. here's 6k+ words of pining peraltiago and light angst <3 i literally didn't mean for this be so long but uh. it is anyway lol
> 
> chapter title from _fool_ by cavetown

So, he might’ve made a mistake.

Jake’s made a _lot_ of mistakes in his life. He was no stranger to having to try again; he was practically at the friends-with-benefits stage with having to take a few steps back to reassess and try something else, if he was able. That said, he was used to making bad decisions as well-- he just couldn’t get over this one in particular.

He told Amy he liked her, and then he disappeared for six months.

Jake _definitely_ might’ve made a mistake.

Actually, Jake made a lot of minor mistakes surrounding the night that he left-- he wasn’t privy to lying when it wasn’t necessary, but lie he did.

While he was gone, he ruminated more than he’d ever ruminated before in his life (he actually looked up the word ‘ruminate’ to put a verb on just what exactly he was doing). He’d close his eyes and suddenly his conversation with Amy was playing like a film on the backs of his eyelids, and while he was watching this playback version of the two of them, he couldn’t help but to feel like he’d gone about it all wrong. He was nervous and it showed; Amy probably didn’t think much of it-- she likely thought he was just flighty and acting on impulse, and he knew she had her reasons for thinking that way; impulsiveness tended to get the better of him.

All that said, Jake decided that now was an okay time to lie.

He got her alone in the evidence locker first. No one needed to know about his confession except for the two of them, and whoever else Amy had already told (god, he hoped she hadn’t said a thing to Charles-- poor guy was already a wreck since he’d been away for so long). Privacy was good, necessary, even, but he couldn’t help noticing the new, thick air that hung between the two of them. Jake didn’t need that between his desk and hers; it was stuffy and too warm inside this feeling, so he decided he’d kill that as quickly as possible.

“Hey, so, all that stuff I said back there…”

Amy shifted immediately. She definitely remembered, of course-- not that he put a lot of thought into it, but Amy seemed like the type of person to have a great memory. “I’m still with Teddy,” she said, and he swore she almost looked a little apologetic when admitting so.

“Right,” Jake laughed off the edge of an exhale, his chin dipping in a nod. He kept his eyes averted more or less, which wasn’t uncharacteristic-- emotions never really had been his strong suit, and if he was lucky, Amy wouldn’t think anything of it. “How’s that going, by the way?”

“Jake,” she murmured, only gently pressing him. Amy was a woman of her own volition, but she wouldn’t use that against him. His nerves were running rampant, and she wasn’t going to chastise him for that. “It’s, um, it’s going well. We’re doing fine. You were saying?”

Right, he was about to lie. 

“Oh-- yeah. I was gonna say, ah, all that stuff I said? Before I left? That was a lie. I was just… really nervous, I think I was just talking, I didn’t mean any of it.” 

Amy eyed him for him for a moment after he was done speaking. One of her brows raised inquisitively, but there was no indication that Jake was off, and to be honest, she was a little relieved. This meant that the heavy, foggy tension hanging between the two of them would start to dissipate, and she was glad-- Jake had been back for all of twenty, maybe thirty minutes, and she already was missing the ease that their friendship carried.

Her exhale was what reassured him that everything was fine, and if it wasn’t that, then the smile on her face did it in for him.

* * *

So, Jake feels bad. 

Lying made him feel slimy, and somehow, lying to Amy made that slime-laden feeling all the more intense. Every time he’d look up from his desk he’d catch her eye and then immediately look back down. At the same time, he couldn’t help himself from looking at her; she had her hair up today, brushed back into an immaculate ponytail. The shirt she was wearing complimented her nicely. Amy was pretty, and she was funny and nice and good at her job, _so_ good at her job, and she was just as smart, if not _as smart_ as him.

He lied about lying. Looking at Amy made that clear in his head-- there was no way he was over whatever feeling it was that sunk into his head and made a home there, and his mental garden had resprouted entirely anew after he’d given his daisies to her six months ago. 

He needed to get her alone again, and have another one of these super awkward, totally fun conversations.

They were at the bar when he finally said it. He was overwarm and a little beer-confident, which was likely for the best. He sidled next to her at the circular table, situating his hoodie-covered forearms over the sticky tabletop, and offered her a smile.

“Not to bring it up again, but this morning when I said all that stuff I said was a lie? That was a lie. I meant it. And I know you’re with Teddy, I’m not trying to change that, I just… don’t want to leave anything out there,” Jake said, picking his gaze up and laying it against her visage. She didn’t look mad, she was just nodding at him, soft smile on her face.

All of her context clues were saying that she appreciated his honesty, and when her words confirmed it, he actually thought he might jump for joy.

* * *

A long time ago, Jake had convinced himself that he’d die alone on the force, married completely to both his desk and his job. He didn’t even really want to make it past detective; he was sitting exactly where he wanted to be. He loved what he did, and the idea of having a command freaked him out. Here at this bar with Terry, Jake was having a contained pity party for himself, solely revolving around his love life.

Terry was one of the few people in the loop around what Jake decided to call _The Amy Debacle_. His moping wasn’t lost on the sergeant; in fact, it sort of screamed at him in vivid color with vulgar words, and Jake’s speaking confirmed it thrice over.

“You’re not hopeless, man. You just need to try out a few different moves. What do you talk about when you make conversation?”

Jake lifted his head from his beer and sighed low, adjusting the sleeves on his shirt so they sat right at his elbows. “Cop stuff? It’s my go-to, I just break out a gory case, if it impresses it impresses… which it usually doesn't, so I don’t know why I keep trying. Work is my life and I’m gonna die alone,” he groaned, and suddenly the low bar lights were giving him a headache, and he had half a mind to call it a night.

Terry gave him a once over, pursed his lips, and shook his head. “Have you tried avoiding the cop stuff entirely? You’re an interesting guy, Jake. Change the approach.”

And that was how Jake met Sophia.

Sophia was _fun_. She was hot, she was into him, and she met his enthusiasm and challenged all of his necessary levels. He didn’t need to mention cop stuff once for them to bond-- they bonded over spicy chicken wings, Die Hard ( _huge_ plus), ping pong, and later, sex. Sophia was great. There was no way this could go south, because she liked him for things that weren’t cop things.

All of a sudden, that became the entire issue.

The last thing Jake expected to see was Sophia Perez strutting into his court room. He found himself hoping, in the back of his head, that she was the one on trial, because somehow, that was better than her being a defense attorney. But no-- his concerns had proven realistic, and she was glaring daggers into his line of sight.

“You didn’t tell me you were a cop,” she hissed, eyes narrowed. Really, why was _she_ mad? Defense attorneys were slime, Jake had _slept with slime_.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t tell me you were a defense attorney. This is like if _John McClane_ had slept with _Hans Gruber_ ,” he shuddered, a little animated, gesticulation too big to make it past the suit he was wearing.

“Are you kidding me? You’re the Gruber.”

Of course she got the reference-- _she liked Die Hard_. Suddenly, this was the bane of his existence.

But the thing was, Jake really liked Sophia. He _really_ liked her. Before the whole McClane-Gruber thing (he’d argue that he was McClane until he was blue in the face or _died_ , god forbid), they got along well. She was quick to match wits with him, they were _very_ good at sex together, and she let him be the little spoon (though he didn’t like when she threatened to tell the jury that he preferred that position because, well, _cold_ ).

All of this combined was enough for Jake to want to at least try to talk it out with her.

Arguing was her job. It proved to be no feat that they reached an agreement quickly, and that was how, after entirely dismantling a desk not belonging to a Ms. Sophia Perez, Jake ended up with a pretty sweet, pretty serious girlfriend.

Things were fine for a while, and then they were not, which happened very, very quickly.

What he thought was a nice gesture for Amy as a friend turned into a nightmare for both relationships, though his was short lived.

Within five minutes of dinner beginning, Amy broke up with Teddy, admitted she, at one point or another, had feelings for Jake, he responded with quiet elation, and Sophia went back to their room upstairs.

He could salvage things with Sophia-- right then, he was happy where he was at. Amy was fresh out of a relationship and things were good with Sophia, he wouldn’t jeopardize that. He liked her, he made that clear, and things were fine. 

(Would he still be, somewhere, very silently, closer to mute, happy that Amy had returned feelings for him, despite his relationship status? _Yes_.)

The car ride home was quiet. It wasn’t awful, tense silence-- it was comfortable, there was a perp in the back seat, and Jake and Amy were themselves. Balance had been totally restored, and the nightmare had ended somewhere on a back road coming back home to Brooklyn.

Once home, would he let it go that Amy Santiago used to be deeply in love with him?

_“You’re stretching my words, Jake. I never said love, and I never said deeply.”_

_“But you didn’t deny it just now,” he says, winking. He thinks she might be trying to scowl, but her face is burrowed into a piece of paper that’s so interesting all of a sudden, and the tips of her ears are bright red._

No.

* * *

The downfall of Jake and Sophia came softly and entirely unexpectedly. 

For the record, Jake thought that things were going really well. They weren’t anywhere near moving in with each other, but they were staying over frequently (he was keeping his apartment near to clean for her). The Occupation Debacle had hardly come up after it came up first, and he was happy.

He just didn’t realize that he was taking this a little more seriously than she was.

In his special-event peacoat on a park bench, Sophia hit the breaks. This wasn’t an awful outcome; a break wasn’t a dead stop. Right?

Wrong.

Well, technically, it wasn’t a dead stop until it became one. Jake had just been reflecting on The Occupation Debacle-- evidently, he seemed to have manifested it coming back up. Arresting his girlfriend’s boss on the grounds of possession of cocaine wasn’t exactly how one would go about securing their relationship status. It definitely didn’t help his case when Sophia showed up to the precinct as her boss’s attorney rather than his girlfriend, which she most definitely was not anymore.

Thus came the end Jake and Sophia.

Man, was he sad. Jake’s heart had been trampled many times before, but this felt different. He had tried his hardest, and still managed to fail. That ache was dull and pervasive, and he allowed himself to get only marginally teary over it as he collected a box of Sophia’s things to give back to her from his apartment.

* * *

Jake would consider everyone on the fourth floor of the nine-nine one of his best friends. 

He had best friends in that group of people who were closer best friends than everyone else, but still, best friends nonetheless. His best friends surprised him day in and day out-- Amy and Rosa saved him from Sophia’s boss, who had kidnapped him and threatened his life, and Gina and Charles were siblings to be.

The second one took him more by surprise than the first, really. After he found out that Gina and Charles were, well, smooshing booties, the very last thing expected was for Charles and Gina’s parents to get married. Charles felt the same, evidently-- “ _our sex did this!_ ” was constantly proclaimed (when it first started, it was out of shock-- now, pride?).

There were lots of things he expected from the Boyle-Linetti wedding. Drama, yes. Gina’s mother in a gold wedding dress? Yes. Hitchcock vaping-- sort of. Losing the ring he was so kindly trusted with… yes (he knew something was going to get messed up there, and in this case, it was his little finger, after Terry had ripped the thing off of him). 

Jenny Gildenhorn? No. An exact repeat of his bar mitzvah? Also no.

Air Supply played over the speakers, and he felt the life drain out of him as he watched Jenny Gildenhorn make out with someone she’d only just met while slow dancing with him. He worried that his life was doomed to repeat itself in more adult versions of scenarios he’d been in as an adolescent. While he was taught that it was rude to stare, he couldn’t help but gawk-- how was _this_ song playing? How was Jenny Gildenhorn _here_ , of all places? How--

“This is a bummer and all, but I know someone who wanted to dance with you.”

Amy’s voice was what pulled him out of his trance.

He turned immediately, unable to keep his lips from flickering upward. He’d gotten to spend most of the day with Amy, and it was comfortable, and so nice-- even the part when she proposed marriage to him, and he so gratefully accepted. In their outing, she had completely made a mess of her dress, but Gina, without surprise, had another ready to go.

She looked pretty. The lights above were bringing out the warmer tones in the brown in her eyes, and the way her hair fell against her face accentuated the sharpness in her cheekbones. The floral pattern on her dress was all-too stunning, and he wondered how his hand would fit into the design when it was pressed against her back while they were slow dancing. 

The smile he produced had grown bigger, only to be cut short when Amy produced an elderly woman who was quickly introduced as Gina’s great aunt Susan. The disappointment was evident for only a second before he turned the charm back up to ten-- he wouldn’t be rude, Susan couldn’t possibly have known that there was a part of him vehemently hoping that Amy had saved a dance for him.

Above the petite woman he was rocking with, Jake met Amy’s eyes. She flashed him a gentle simper, and he responded in a nod, all-too indicative of how he was feeling. 

The fire within him had ignited once more, and Amy Santiago had started to take up her residence in the forefront of his mind once again.

* * *

The minute Jake opens his eyes every morning, his life is greeted with turbulence.

That thought is a double edged sword-- his life has a tendency to be both unstable and unpredictable, but it’s also a play on words-- turbulence… 

His dad is in town.

For a little while, he’s elated. Jake thinks Roger might finally be coming around the way he’s always wanted him to. His entire life he’d been trying to fill the gap that was father-shaped, and nothing had ever quite sufficed (though Captain Holt came so, so close) the way he wished it would. Jake was convinced this would be different-- he was willing to turn over a new leaf if Roger was, and let the power of forgiveness unleash itself.

It’s great for a minute. Roger is warm in the way Jake had always hoped his father (or any father figure, really) would be. He’s funny, he sees glimpses of himself in the elder Peralta, and he’s a pilot, which is just _so_ beyond cool. A few days aren’t telling of character development through years of absence, but it doesn’t take long for his true colors to show-- which they do, as is the case with all things.

All Roger needed was case help.

Jake was no stranger to being disappointed by his father. This sting was a little different than the residual ache that was all of his other daddy issues, however-- he thought things were going so well, and he was being used. Roger never cared about being a dad, much less about being a good one, and that had never changed, even years down the line. The hurt he harbored was a little too much for him-- Jake hated being annoyed, and he hated being sad more.

That’s when he does the only thing he can even think of doing: he calls Amy.

“Hey,” Amy breathes immediately. He can hear a little background noise-- she has her TV on, but he can’t really tell what she’s watching. Probably some smart documentary or something-- seems like it would be her thing. “Everything okay? You never call unless you really need something.”

“What? Oh. Yeah.” Jake had taken to laying flat on his bed, above the made-up comforter and pillows arranged beneath him. His phone was on speaker, resting on his chest, rising in time with his breathing. “My dad was in town, and--”

“I see,” she cuts him off. He smiles then-- she doesn’t need any elaboration, and he’s thankful for that. She proves it over and over again: she does know him. 

“Yeah. What’re you watching?”

“How It’s Made,” she says, leaning her head to her phone pressed against her shoulder. She’s bracing herself for the ridicule she feels coming her way-- How It’s Made is no action movie, and he probably wouldn’t have expected any less from her.

“One time I saw How It’s Made for crayons and I was mesmerized for an entire half hour,” Jake chuckles. She can hear the smile in his voice-- he’s actually not making fun of her, and she can’t help the way her heart aches just a little at the sound of his life. “Which one are you watching?”

“Ultra thin glass?”

“Nice,” he says.

She can hear his bed creak beneath him just then. He’s alone-- if he was with Charles or with anyone else, he wouldn’t have called. Jake had an air of unpreparedness to him which had her convinced she was the first person he called. In this moment, she was his go-to for feeling better.

“You were on the day shift today, how was work?”

Small talk had never been their thing, but he was endlessly grateful for it right now. With Amy, it wasn’t awkward-- there was an air of ease between them that transcended phone lines and text messages. He never had to worry.

“It was alright, solved everything. There’s no such thing as crime in New York now.” He says it with so much seriousness that it makes her laugh. Amy raises her hand to her mouth to cover the sound, and Jake wishes she hadn’t.

All it took was a mostly perfunctory phone call for Jake’s feelings for Amy to be back in full force. The warmth that starts at the bottom of his ribcage and blossoms upward splashes back into his life so easily that he suspects it never entirely left him in the first place.

It wasn’t until after the phone call that things got weird.

Jake thought they were fine-- he and Amy were nowhere near on their way to being a couple, but he could quietly pine in peace and as far as he knew, Amy didn’t know, and if she did, she didn’t mind. She laughed around him like normal, but he read between the lines a little more; she laughed more at the things he said than the things that everyone else had to say. Her smile met her eyes when she smiled at him (the little crinkles that would appear and greet him alongside the expression made his heart soar).

He was working his way up to asking her out. He wouldn’t tell her this-- he didn’t want to make it weird, he just wanted to ask her, and see how it went. Nothing huge; just dinner, maybe a movie at his place (the guarantee that things would end in sex from their bet prior to this had been dropped to a mere hope).

As was the trend of things, there would be a false step in his footing. It came in the form of nine words: “I decided I’m just not going to date cops.”

_Shit._

* * *

Okay, so he made things awkward.

It isn’t like he did it on purpose, really-- it just… came out that way. Jake would never discredit Amy or her smarts; she was the only person he trusted to be on the same page as him, at all times, but he’d be lying if he said he wanted to work cases alone with her right now. It wasn’t anything personal-- he just really liked her, and the whole _I don’t want to date cops_ thing sort of threw him off of his game.

He just didn’t realize how obvious it was until she called him out on it. 

“Did I, like, do something to you? It seems like you’ve been trying to kick me off your cases lately,” she frowned, her arms crossed. As good as it felt to see her smile at him, it felt equally as bad to be the cause of her frown. 

“No, you just have a ton of open cases. You told Rosa, remember? You said _I have hella open cases_ and she was like, oh, alright. I remember, clear as day,” he nods, stringing himself through his farce with confidence that should be lost on him, given the height of the lie. 

“I said that, verbatim?” (She’s not as amused as he is.)

A sigh. Silence trickles over them both and the tension he’d long since forgotten (and loathed) is back, and he hates it. “Look,” he starts, eyes rolling. At himself, not her, never her-- he wants to be an adult about this because this is work but his _feelings_ are hurt and that makes him feel childish. “Just… the whole _I don’t date cops_ thing really bummed me out. Because I was kinda on my way to asking you out. But it’s good, it just took me a minute to get it, and now I _totally_ get it, so it’s fine.”

Jake can tell Amy had no idea that idea was even a semblance of the way into his head just by how she was looking at him. He swore he could feel three years fall off of his lifespan-- this did _not_ rule; it opposite ruled. It _delur_.

“Oh,” she nods. “Jake, this is weird.”

“Right, so, let’s make it not weird. Let’s just work this case, because we’re super good at that?” he suggested, brows raised as his hands perched against his hips. Anything to lessen the tension.

“Super good. Okay,” she echoed, smiling for a fleeting second. He handed his file over to her so she could take a closer look at what they were dealing with, and that was that.

* * *

He feels like he’s being tested. He knows he isn’t, realistically, but of course he’d get situated in an undercover sting with Amy where her shirt was slightly unbuttoned and her hair was down.

_“How do I look?” she asked, resettling herself._

_“Uh, I don’t know, all I see is clothes hanging off of a genderless blob?”_

_So much for not making it weird._

And of course Charles is insistent on the fact that something about his button up makes him look like _such_ a cop-- he’s not sure what it is, but Rosa sees it, and if he knows anything about Rosa it’s that she won’t let up until Jake gives in, even partially. This is how he finds himself, to his dismay and to Charles’ delight, inside of Scully’s sport coat that’s entirely too big for him-- even rolled up to his elbows, he’s swimming in it. He feels ridiculous, but everything about tonight so far had been ridiculous, so he finds it fitting enough to live in for the time being.

As if tonight couldn’t get weirder, the universe mocks him by birthing Johnny and Dora: a newly engaged couple who happened to have their first date be at this restaurant. 

“The cheek kiss was a little much,” Jake chastises, though the burn in his stomach wants him to do the opposite.

Amy shrugs. “Dora’s sloppy.”

“Well, good thing we’re Jake and Amy again. Just two normal cops working an undercover operation, recovering a ton of stolen social security numb--”

“You’re the couple who just got engaged! Congratulations!”

The world laughs in his face. Again.

They get sat next to Augustine and his girlfriend, presumably-- Augustine, the guy with the laptop that they’re supposed to be watching. Jake and Amy do _not_ get to be Jake and Amy, two normal cops, and Jake’s never been more dreadful of the fact that he has to play pretend.

Amy’s hand is entirely too quick to grab his in a display of affection, showing off their coupleship, and in doing so, her ringless hand.

“She doesn’t wear it because she has… huge fingers. She’d rather not draw attention to them, you know? It’s a thing,” he covers, grin settled into his features. Amy kicks him under the table, but it’s worth it-- if he has to be Johnny, he’s going to be Jake.

Jake and Amy make casual conversation and try not to draw too much attention to themselves. It’s mostly Jake chastising the oysters (“you have the palette of an eight year old” -- “then I’d be a very smart eight year old, because oysters are _nasty_ ”) and Amy rolling her eyes at him, but it’s comfortable enough that nothing is out of the norm.

“So when did you know that you were the one for each other?” the girlfriend asks, and it comes so far out of left field that Jake feels whiplash for a fleeting moment. His face scrunches then-- he has to think of something quickly, and it can’t be stupid, because they’re supposed to be selling this whole engaged couple thing.

“I… her face, and the… attached physique,” he murks, taking one glance to Amy, who seems like she’s either inches away from stabbing him in the hand with a fork, or asking him ‘what?’ out loud. She does neither-- she actually does something he doesn’t at all expect of her: she takes it seriously.

“He makes me laugh.” 

Amy’s eyes catch his and they’re spilling such genuity that he needs to say something not-stupid to counteract what he’d said at first. He smiles before turning to Augustine and company, speaking low and with intention, “and there’s really… no one’s opinion I care about more than hers, so.”

Jake can feel Amy looking at him, heart on her sleeve. He gazes at her and dips his chin to spark confirmation of the fact that _yes_ , he meant it that time. Between them, there’s a newfound level of peace over the table-- they understand each other in a way that they hadn’t five minutes ago.

The haze they were awash in lasted a few minutes. It was a nice space to live in for a few minutes; no one existed but himself and Amy, and if he was given the choice, he could spend a night or two within that feeling. But they had jobs to do, and a perp to follow, and follow they did.

“I thought you said the drop site was in the park?” Amy quips quietly, willing her heels not to click too much on the floor beneath them as they travelled up the wall leading to the kitchen.

Jake turns his head for a moment, brows furrowing. “I think he’s passing off the laptop,” he mumbles, “but I think he’s looking at us, so just--”

Their first kiss was not magical.

Jake was unsure of what to do with his hands, and Amy was mildly confused for a moment. A millisecond passed before she melted into a more malleable state against his chest, kissing him with the urgency she imagined a newly engaged couple might contain. His eyes closed for a moment; he allowed himself to feel the sparklers going off in his stomach for all of three seconds before he was side-eyeing Michael Augustine once again.

“Sorry, we were just looking for a place to--”

“Boink,” Amy finished, smiling softly as her hand rubbed up and down Jake’s chest. He had to swallow a round of laughter; he hid it with a nod, and chose instead to just grin.

“I get it. Newly engaged kids-- you two have fun,” Augustine said politely, and for a moment, Jake wondered how this guy was even a criminal.

Alone once again, his eyes fell on Amy. She was beet red from the tips of her ears down her neck (not that he would look any further), and he was sure he was much the same. He cleared his throat and held a hand out for her to shake. “Detective,” he said, and she shook his hand with the same firmness she’d shaken with dozens of times before, returning to him a “detective,” of her own.

* * *

The air in the car can only be described as still. Charles and Rosa are quick to point it out, because Jake is completely stuck in the stagnance of it.

“Amy and I kissed,” Jake mumbles, his hands rubbing together between his knees.

Jake would swear on everything he has that Charles almost passes out when the admittance leaves his mouth. From the view he has into the mirror, Rosa seems mildly annoyed. He can’t blame her; the situation is mildly nagging at his own brain, and he’s one half of the equation.

“Who cares? Call me when you grab each other’s asses.”

That’s about as close to normal as they’re going to get from here on out, Jake decides.

* * *

As much as they bicker and tease one another, Jake and Amy, at the root of it all, are best friends. He knows her like the back of his hand and she knows him much the same. As weird as it has the capability to get between the two of them, the underlying note of companionship stays the course.

“I didn’t eat anything at that restaurant we were at, I’m starving. You know what I’m getting on my way home?” Amy says, crossing her arms over her chest. She feels a little weird hovering the park, but it can’t be any weirder than dinner was, so she lets the feeling pass.

“Bet I do,” Jake smiles.

“Lay it on me.”

“You’ll get perogies, potato pancakes, and a cup of hot chocolate from that Polish place by your apartment.” There’s full confidence in his voice, and he smiles softly at her. The look on her face is softened, shock cushioning the grin tugging the corners of her lips upward. “That’s… exactly what I’m getting.”

If she ever had any doubts about Jake being a bad partner, they’re squashed now-- he listens, he _retains_ , even when it feels like he doesn’t. The small things are proof of such.

Somewhere in the middle of Jake talking about display temperature pizza, Amy catches someone in a suit out of the corner of her peripheral. Her hands twiddle at her sides, fingers rubbing over each other.

“Jake--”

“Display temperature isn’t cold, it’s display--”

“Jake.”

“What? Amy, there’s a _difference_ \--”

“This is happening,” Amy sighs.

Their second kiss is only slightly better than their first.

Amy pushed Jake up against the tree behind him, her hands cupping his cheeks. It felt more natural to have her lead, and he suspects that’s why it feels more natural this time (and he’d never been more thankful to have not eaten oysters in his life). She was warm, her hands were gentle in their firmness and her lips weren’t chapped, despite the cold. This time, he let himself focus on kissing Amy, and less on the perp-- it was more believable that way anyway, right?

Drawing their guns came in hazily. Jake was living in a world where that kiss was the only thing that was happening, and he didn’t even recount the words “you’re under arrest, this is a work event,” coming out of his mouth (though Amy’s laughter in the car at the prompted retelling made him believe he said it, anyway).

Jake has the weekend to ruminate. He debates over calling Amy for another one of their How It’s Made phone calls, but he doesn’t want to ignite a conversation that has the chance to go poorly. He doesn’t call-- instead, he stares at his ceiling, deliberately skips over How It’s Made every time it’s on TV.

They don’t speak until Monday.

* * *

He’s trying so, so hard to restore normalcy. It’s hard, because every time he looks at Amy, he thinks about kissing her, and then he wants to kiss her again. He so badly wants to bring up what happened, but they’re at work, and he doesn’t want everyone finding out outside the people who undoubtedly know already. 

She’s doing a better job at being normal than he is. Amy can look at Jake without needing to look away after one second, and he half worries it’s because she’s not as torn up about it as he is. He wants her to be invested, but the entire premise of working that operation together was that it needed to not be weird, because Amy doesn’t want to date cops.

That’s the problem.

Everything that would be standard all of a sudden feels like flirty banter, and he’s trying for it to not feel that way. Time and time again, she reassures him that it’s fine, but he can’t help feeling like somewhere, it might not be, and that’s what eats away at him.

Jake had been so wrapped up in his own life that he hadn’t even realized other detrimental things were happening in the precinct.

He never thought that ‘meep morp, zeep’ would be a phrase that makes him emotional, but Captain Holt says it with such sullenness that he might as well have just read a sonnet about death.

While he and Amy were sucking face, Holt was being forced out of the nine-nine.

She’s just as shocked as he is-- he can see the lines in her face start to set in, she keeps uttering profanities to herself when she thinks other people can’t hear (and, for the record, when she knows that they can). It’s hard seeing her so torn up over this-- Holt was-- is-- her mentor, she had worked long and hard to get as comfortable around him as she was now.

In every overwhelming situation, there comes to be a block that seems to send the entire infrastructure of the empire that had previously been built crumbling. Holt leaving happened to be Jake and Amy’s.

Again they found themselves alone in the evidence locker it felt like they’d grown all-too familiar with. Amy shrinks into herself; she can’t stop rubbing her forearms, she’s anxious and it’s a tell-tale sign. Jake frowns.

“How are you taking it?” she asks.

“Basically dealing with it the same way I dealt with my dad leaving,” he murmurs, though there’s a cloud of numbness that shrouds his words. She nods her understanding-- in a way, she understands, from a distended point of view.

Cold air fills the gap between their bodies. Neither one of them dares to even breathe too loudly. The evidence locker made every sound feel ten times louder than it was, and in times of crisis, that rang especially true. When they did speak, it was Amy who broke the silence.

“Lotta of change around here, huh?” 

She’s not actually asking for feedback.

Jake doesn’t give it to her anyway; they lock eyes for a moment before his body is entangled in hers, and they’re kissing for real this time. There’s no sport jacket, no Michael Augustine, no laptop, no Johnny and Dora in their way this time-- this moment is made wholly, purely of Jake and Amy, and pent-up feelings.

Their third kiss is when they finally get it right.

Her lips still aren’t chapped, and she sort of tastes like vanilla. He’s gentle and there’s no real force behind any of his movements, but there’s enough fever between the both of them that sharing isn’t hard. Her fingertips ghost his hairline and a chill runs up his spine from the touch. Right now, the fourth floor and all of Brooklyn belong to them; if they had a moment in a snowglobe, this would be it.

Jake can’t recall who pulls back first. He just knows warmth is missing from him when her arms unwrap themselves from around his neck, and she’s only a foot away, but she’s never felt further apart.

The real world exists, and he forgot that entirely until Terry was calling for him. The real world exists, and the ninety-ninth precinct is getting a new captain.

Everything else has to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is.... so long. and this is just season2 lmaoooodfdskfdsjfdsn whew. please dont be mad if i dont update this for a hot minute. this was a lot for me and also im working on 2 very fun aus except one isnt fun its just sad LOL
> 
> as always, comments (!) and kudos are appreciated

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos make for faster updates xo  
> 


End file.
